SIX

Saturday, 1 September 1945

"With strategies like that, you'll be taking over in no time, my lord," Abraxas said with a grin.

A rumble of "hear-hears!" sounded around the long table where Tom's Knights sat. He felt the stretch of his lips as he looked around at each of them. "I should hope so," he said, leaning back in his chair at the head of the table. "Otherwise what would be the point?"

Tom had spent his years within Hogwarts dreaming of what it would be like once he got outside it's walls. He wondered if he would be able to maintain the reach and connections that he'd worked so hard to procure over the years. But ever since Abraxas had opened up his Manor to the man he pledged his allegiance to, things had only gotten better. In the few short months that he had been there, his Knights had nearly doubled in size.

Navigating a larger following hadn't been without its challenges, but he couldn't do everything himself. Had he been able to stride right up to the Ministry, barge in, and takeover, he would have done so already. But even then, usurping power never lasted long. Tom know that to build a true regime, one that would stand tall and be hard to knock down, he had to start at the bottom and work his way up. Sure, there was a bit of a race with Grindlewald still being at large, but he would be just one adversary in a long and powerful regime.

One of the downsides to living with Abraxas was that he much enjoyed the company of others. He was constantly entertaining or dragging Tom around to other Pureblood estates. Granted, it allowed him to meet with likeminded people and grow his network, but he preferred to keep to himself. The exposure took some getting used to. Especially when most of these outings or parties were decided on a whim.

Much like the one Tom heard him announce now as he dismissed the table.

"I believe this calls for a celebration!" he cheered.

"What does?" Tom asked.

"Plans going accordingly, life in general, Avery getting older; take your pick, my lord!" he boasted, smiling wide to everyone in the room. "I know just the place."

Tom frowned at the mention of the exclusive gentlemen's club. He had only heard of it through Abraxas singing its praises, but he had yet to experience it for himself. So far, he had declined each and every invite, but up and coming Dark Lord or not, Abraxas wasn't keen on taking no for an answer at that given moment. So Tom allowed the wizard to place a hand upon his arm and whisk him away to a place he thought he could avoid forever.

Himero's Haunt was located in Bristol. More specifically, the wizarding village of Oaken's Barrow. Just like Wiltshire, it was comprised of mostly wealthy Pureblood families with enough magic in the air to keep humans from wanting to be near the area. Abraxas had taken them straight to the front door and made a specific movement of his wand against the door. It opened a moment later where they were greeted by a man with dark skin and bright eyes.

"Ah, Master Malfoy. Always a pleasure," he said, his voice deep as he greeted Abraxas in kind. "Is this the entire party?"

Tom's eyes narrowed upon learning this had been planned, but followed his Knights down a dimly lit corridor and into an overly decorated room. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling with shimmering balls of light at the center casting rainbow fragments all around. Music played softly in the background; just loud enough to keep someone from overhearing a conversation, but not enough to prevent one. Men sat on plush couches of black leather while women in barely any clothing wandered the room or sat atop their laps.

This would never be his sort of establishment, but it was the type his followers seemed to gravitate towards. And in the name of emassing as many as he could, Tom took the champagne flute that floated past him and followed the others further into the room. They stopped at one of the higher platforms on the wall opposite the door they'd walked through; an almost private area large enough for all of them.

Tom had barely settled into the armchair off to the side before his vision of the club was obscured by a throng of women. Each of them sought the lap of one of his men quickly putting an end to Tom's high for the day. At the Manor, he had felt a rush of victory; a sense of accomplishment. Here, with woman after woman trying to capture his attention, he felt defeat.

Their presence was a reminder that nearly everything he wanted was within his reach.

Except for her.

Tom's jaw clenched and his grip on the arms of the chair tightened. The last thing he wanted to do was think of Hermione. He refused to let her cross his mind here. It was bad enough that he could hear her voice in his head when he was gathered around the table with his followers. It seemed she had spouted her romantic notions of a harmonious world enough that a part of him had listened. Once, he had even caught himself adjusting his plans based on something she had said to him once.

Here, in this place, he kept his focus on the room before him. He surveyed the men, putting all his efforts into trying to place names to the faces he saw. He recognized quite a few of them, some of which he had already met. That would change with time, hopefully soon. Tom could even imagine the Manor filled with people indulging themselves in celebration; reveling in victory.

A soft moan, one far too similar to ones he'd heard before, drew his attention back to his present company. Jealousy coursed freely through his veins as his gaze landed on the woman perched on the arm of Abraxas' chair.

For a moment, he was transported back to Hogwarts. Instead of a stranger and his most devout follower, it was Draco and Hermione. Rather than being seated in a chair, they were in the drafty halls of Hogwarts. The room fell away as the dark of night settled into Tom's mind. Hermione was pressed against the wall with her legs locked around Draco's hips. The melody of her moans surrounded him, drawing him closer, bringing her attention towards him.

The fire in her eyes was just as much for Draco as it was for Tom. In that moment, he could have shaken his head instead of inclining it and she would have held back. For as much as he wanted to show her who was in control, to keep her from the thing she wanted most in that moment, he gave in. He had stayed long enough to see her through and then tore himself away, unable to watch any longer.

As the memory faded, Tom's gaze refocused in time to see Abraxas pulling his lips away from the woman's ear, a smirk on his lips as he nodded in Tom's direction.

Tom's eyes stayed locked on her as she got to her feet, her movements like water as she made her way towards him. The closer she got, the more under her spell Tom became. The smile on her red painted lips made the dark of her eyes shimmer with desire. The sway of her hips made her long waves float around her shoulders. By the time she stopped before him, Tom was completely under her spell; the reality blurring his memories.

She said nothing as leaned in to take his hand. The feel of her skin against his had him rising to his feet without any hesitation. Before he even realized, he was following her away from the main room, down another darkened corridor and into a private room just for them. She guided him to the leather settee in the center of the room, the door closing behind them without needing to be touched. Her hands slipped from his only so she could place them on his chest and gently pushed until he sat.

His breathing grew shallow as she straddled his lap. The weight of them sank the cushion further and the heat of her spread across his palms as his hands curved around her waist. His nostrils flared as her fingers combed through his hair, her lips ghosting across his cheek. "Is this to your liking, my lord?" she asked, her hand sliding down between them.

He stiffened beneath her as her fingers curved over his cock. Her lips curved against his skin and the vibrations of her soft hum reverberated through him.

He swallowed hard as she began to knead him through his trousers; his cock stirring to life slowly at her touch. He closed his eyes as she kissed her way back up his throat only to press her lips firmly against his. Her tongue swiped gently at the seam of his lips in search of entry. They parted on their own accord, but it was the taste of her that broke the spell.

The hair slipping between his fingers was too long, too thin, and three shades too dark. The hips rocking against his were too wide and the breasts pressed against his chest were too full. And when he tightened his grip on her hair, yanking her kiss-swollen lips from his, it wasn't honey and chocolate staring back at him; it was ink.

She gave a sharp cry as he pushed her from his lap where she landed in a heap on the floor at his feet. Had it been Hermione, the fear in her eyes would have made him hard. But it wasn't her. This girl, trembling on the floor, was supposed to fear him.

"Your name?" he asked, rising to his feet.

"E-Eris," she replied, her voice shaking.

Tom's lips pulled back into a sneer at the irony. Strife and discord; the sheer opposite of harmony, yet often in mythology, wrapped in a similar package.

"Go," he demanded, watching as she scrambled to her feet and out of the room the moment he had finished speaking.

Alone, he Apparated back to his quarters at the Manor. Inhaling deeply, he stared at his reflection in the window; one with a bench large enough for a person to sit at. It faced the garden, giving him a few of the rose bushes that were enchanted to bloom year-round.

As he turned to pour himself a drink from the cart Abraxas had set up for him, he inhaled deeply. At least now he had confirmation that Hermione had been nothing but a distraction. A temptation whose sole purpose was to derail his ambitions and gain control. Without her there, he could finally focus on what was important; the power he so desperately craved.

And he would have it one way or another. No matter who or what tried to stand in his way.

Sunday, 2 September 1945

Tom barely slept; kept awake by an endless list of things that still needed to be done. He had taken several steps forward to be where he wanted to be, but it wasn't enough. Every moment that he wasted sleeping or at gentlemen's clubs was a moment that kept him from his goal. His followers would do whatever he asked of them; of that he knew without a doubt. But in order to achieve his goals of power, he had to rely on himself.

On the off chance Abraxas made it to breakfast, Tom intended to speak with him about who they would be meeting with next. But when the blond wizard strode through the door that morning, Tom knew that had something dire to discuss.

"Have you seen the Daily Prophet, my lord?" Abraxas asked.

He had expected Abraxas to razz him about leaving the club without saying anything or make jests about the girl he left the room with. But instead, his tone matched the look on his face; bleak.

Tom held out his hand and watched as Abraxas pulled it from the pocket of his robes and placed it upon Tom's palm. His eyes immediately came to settle on the front page picture. There, in the center of the lobby of the Ministry, was Grindelwald. He was standing opposite Minister Spencer-Moon; their hands clasped together in solidarity.

Tom's rage flowed through his veins as he began to read. Each word he absorbed made it seem as though his magic would erupt at any moment, taking them all down together. By the time he finished the article, the paper began to burn, the ash falling into a pile atop the food he was no longer interested in eating. It was the headline that disintegrated last; engraining itself in Tom's mind forever.

Grindelwald pardoned by Minister for Magic!

A/N: IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!

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